


Fantasia

by 35-leukothea (35_leukothea)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AkuRoku - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Soriku - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35-leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Fantasia</i>: a musical composition rooted in the art of improvisation.</p><p>The beginning of his sophomore year in college has found Sora still as isolated as he was as a child back on his home islands, with his lifelong best friend Kairi and new roommate Roxas as his only companions. When Roxas brings him to the arts building on campus one day, however, he discovers someone who seems to be even more alone than he is. Quiet and timid on one hand and amazingly talented on the other, Riku is an enigma that Sora instantly yearns to understand. But things are never quite as they seem, and Sora’s never had the best foresight, has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prima volta

**Author's Note:**

> [_Fantasia No. 3 in D minor_ \- W.A. Mozart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYiz_u0tDwM)
> 
> FOR THE SAKE OF THE AU:  
> This story takes place in a country that exists _on this planet_ , i.e., on Earth. There’s no Keyblade magicky stuff, but there is some Earth stuff mentioned, mostly names of pieces of music. Thank you and honestly fuck AUs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prima volta_ : the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, everyone, let’s mosey. Whatever happens or seems to be happening in this chapter, this is NOT a Sora/Roxas fic. Got it memorized?

Sora blamed it on two things: one, that his campus was freaking massive, and two, that he’d never taken an arts class in his life.

Alright, maybe those were exaggerations. His school wasn’t an awful lot bigger than any other average city college, but coming from a small coastal town as he did, it was pretty intimidating. And he had taken arts classes before, of course, but never because he’d chosen to. He was 99% sure that nobody would _choose_ to take fifth grade choir with Mr. Hemsworth, if they could get out of it.

Looking back on it, those weren’t very good excuses, but they were enough so that, were it not for Roxas, this would’ve absolutely never happened.

Then, honestly, thank God for Roxas.

Sora’s problem started at home, really—he only had a few friends on the island, and only one of them, Kairi, would be going to the same college as him. Freshman year, Sora’s roommate had not been his favorite person in the world for a multitude of reasons, so he basically clung to Kairi whenever he possibly could, and the rest of the time, made his way on his own. And “made his way” was something of an overstatement—Sora did not handle life amazingly by himself, and he knew it. So when sophomore year rolled around and he had no one to request to room with, all he could do was hope for the best.

Thank _God_ for Roxas. Sora didn’t practice religion, but two days after meeting the kid he thought he might as well start now. They’d gotten lunch and the waitress had asked if they were fraternal twins, and he was pretty sure by some of the looks they got that passersby had thought they were dating. But Sora didn’t care in the slightest, because about halfway through their meal, he’d realized he was making a _friend_.

The conversation had started off pretty normally and understandably awkwardly, but all of a sudden, they just clicked. Maybe they _were_ long-lost twins or something. They talked about everything that came to mind, and Sora soon realized he’d finally found someone who didn’t care how randomly his thoughts jumped around, because Roxas’ jumped around, too. One minute they were talking about the weather and the next they were talking about their past roommates and the next they were talking about their favorite foods and somehow it all still made sense. If he had tried to have this conversation with Kairi, they wouldn’t have gotten past the first three sentences.

That was probably why most people had more than one friend.

Sora asked, “What were your friends like back home, Roxas?”

Roxas adapted instantly to this shift in discussion. “Oh, we did a ton of stupid stuff,” he said easily, “always running around and annoying the older kids. Seifer and Hayner still want to kill each other, I’m pretty sure.”

Sora laughed, even though he didn’t know either of those people and didn’t have any context for their alleged bloodthirsty hatred of each other. “Wakka and Tidus and I always used to spar down on the beach, with wooden swords and stuff,” he said. “That was pretty stupid, too.”

“Kids do stupid things,” agreed Roxas; there was a pause then, and he smirked. “The only question is whether or not they grow out of it.”

“Hey, what are you trying to say?”

It sounded like an inside joke. Like they’d known each other for years. It sure felt that way, Sora thought.

They were both fast eaters (unlike Kairi, who liked to savor her meals and caused Sora a lot of restlessness because of it), so they paid for their food and started the walk back to the dorm within an hour. The conversation had died down a little by then, to something more reasonable: school, of course.

“What’s your favorite subject?” Sora asked, wondering vaguely why they hadn’t reached this topic before.

Roxas shrugged. “I don’t really have a favorite _subject_ , per se, but I like singing.”

“Singing!” exclaimed Sora. “Wish I could sing. I can almost whistle!”

He demonstrated; it was unimpressive, but Roxas laughed.

“I play a little guitar, too,” he continued, “but just chords.”

“I bet you’re really good.”

Roxas sidestepped the compliment. “What about you? What subjects do you like?”

“Well,” said Sora, “I don’t have a favorite _subject_ , per se, but I like history.”

They grinned at each other.

“I think history qualifies as a subject more than singing does,” admitted Roxas.

“You can take a singing class, though, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but not a lot of people think music is something you can actually study. That’s only because they don’t know about music theory, a.k.a. the scariest subject on Earth.”

Sora didn’t know anything about music, nor its theory, so he just agreed.

“What sort of history do you like?”

“Any?” He shook his head. “Any and all. That’s world history, I guess. I’m sort of convinced it’s just because I like reading.”

“We should take a music history class together,” suggested Roxas, in a tone so serious there was no way he wasn’t joking.

It was a bizarre thing, this easy conversation of his and Roxas’, and Sora found that he was disappointed when it ended—Roxas had to run an errand (and wasn’t that a little vague), so Sora went back to their room alone to lay on his bed and do nothing. He also found himself...a little worried? His conversations with Kairi were never over; they always seemed to pick up exactly where they left off. He hoped that was how it would be with Roxas, too, but he was still nervous. He actually could not remember the last time he had made a real friend.

_Oh, that’s right—!_

He leapt up off his bed and grabbed his cell phone, hastily unlocking it and heading straight to speed-dial, which consisted of his parents, his older brother, and, of course...

“Hello?”

“ _Kairikairikairikairi_ —”

“WHAT?”

“Kairi, I made a _friend_!” he declared.

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Finally, she spluttered, “Really? Your new roommate?”

Sora couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad at her for sounding so surprised. “Yeah!” he practically shouted. “His name is Roxas and he’s from Twilight Town and he sings and plays guitar and stuff and—”

“Okay!” Kairi interrupted, laughing. “I get it, I get it! That’s really great, Sora.”

“I know!” Sora exclaimed, practically jumping up and down. “And we actually have some classes together! Where are you? Are you busy? Can I—”

“Sora, don’t you have things to do?”

“ _No!_ C’mon, Kai! Pleaaaaase?”

She sighed audibly, but Sora knew she wasn’t annoyed. “Fine,” she acquiesced, “fine. I’m at the post office, come meet me.”

“The post office?” said Sora, frowning. “Why?”

“I was finally returning one of Selphie’s scarves I borrowed. I was unpacking and I unearthed it after however long.”

“The purplish one? Didn’t she lend that to you, like, senior year?”

“Look, are you coming or what?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he said hastily. “Don’t leave without me!”

“I’m counting down from a hundred, Sor—”

But he didn’t hear the rest of her threat, because he had already hung up and was racing out the door.

 

♫♩  


 

Kairi, sitting on a bench outside the post office, must have long hit zero when Sora arrived, but was miraculously still there.

“You scared me!” Sora said indignantly, flopping down beside her. “This isn’t hide and seek, you didn’t have to count!”

“Did you run here?” she asked, eyebrows raised, as she looked him up and down. “I wasn’t serious. I didn’t really count.”

“Well, I see that now!” he huffed. “You could’ve told me you were joking.”

“Sora, _you_ hung up,” she reminded him. “And of course I wasn’t going to leave. You weren’t—you didn’t actually think...”

Sora stared at her.

Kairi sighed lightly. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t realize you would get so worked up about it.”

He shrugged and stood up. “It’s okay! Let’s walk somewhere. I’m too excited to sit still.”

So they walked, with only a vague sense of destination—probably Kairi’s dorm, eventually, and then Sora’s own, but until then, they wandered the campus aimlessly. Kairi steered them in the general direction of “where we want to be,” because Sora’s knowledge of the immediate area was limited, even after a year. He chattered animatedly about nothing he could remember now if he tried, about Roxas and new classes and other things that interested 19-year-olds. Wait, no—Kairi was already 20, she’d just had a birthday. It was so hard to keep track of how old people were, Sora thought; just when you’d gotten into the habit of calling them a certain age, they went and got a new one. How old was Roxas? He hadn’t asked—

“ _Sora_ ,” sang Kairi, grabbing his elbow and forcibly moving him out of the middle of the sidewalk. “Pay attention to where you’re going! You’re like a five-year-old sometimes.”

And _then_ people had to throw in all those similes, how he _looked_ like he was still in high school and _sounded_ like a child whenever he opened his mouth. Well, it wasn’t his fault his hair wouldn’t lie flat and adulthood had found him at a height of solidly average. He wasn’t a kid anymore! Nobody ever said those things to Kairi. If anything, they told her she sounded sophisticated, although in Sora’s mind that wasn’t an awful lot better, since _sophisticated_ sometimes just meant _old_. Well, actually, if you went _really_ far back it was something more like _contaminated_ , but that really wasn’t important—

“Sora!”

He gasped and tripped on a crack in the pavement. “What! What!”

“Are you even here today?” Kairi demanded, with an ominous look in her eye. “It’s like your brain’s gone all the way back to Destiny Islands. Are you hearing yourself?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I think a ghost takes over your body and runs your mouth while you go off in your own head about, I don’t know, etymology or something—”

“Hey, etymology is cool!” he protested.

“I know, Sor,” she assured him, “but you gotta listen to the outside world sometimes, too.” Then she laughed a little, and the strange expression dissipated. “I can’t believe I still say this, but you really are excitable.”

“Life is exciting,” Sora said brightly. “Are you doing anything exciting today?”

“Nope, I’m too tired. I spent all yesterday unpacking.” She paused, then asked innocently, “Have you finished unpacking?”

Sora suddenly became very interested in two squirrels playing chase on a nearby fence.

 

♫♩

 

Kairi, responsible person she was, made him go back to his dorm and finish his _chores_.

Okay, no, she didn’t _make_ him—she just heavily suggested he do so, and it was so hard to resist Kairi when she got like that, making so much _sense_ and only wanting what was best for you. Sora would probably be at least a little dead without her.

So, yes, he went back to his dorm, and she went back to hers. _At least she didn’t threaten to come along_ , Sora thought gratefully, fully aware that he would unpack for maybe five whole minutes before he got distracted. Then again, Kairi probably knew that, too. She’d just remind him again tomorrow.

His room was on the second floor. He took the stairs two at a time, always in a rush to be anywhere that wasn’t where he already was, threw open the stairwell door, and promptly collided head-on with someone coming in from the other side.

“ _Ow_ , what the—?” the person yelped, then dropped something heavy-sounding and swore indelicately. Sora took a step back and blinked—it was Roxas.

“Oh,” he said.

“Nice to see you too!” Roxas snapped, leaning down to pick up what he had dropped—it was a guitar case. “Look before you leap, why don’t you?”

Sora frowned slightly. “I don’t think that’s what that expression means.”

Roxas stared.

“But sorry for running into you,” he added quickly, hoping his clumsiness hadn’t just permanently pissed off his new friend. “Where are you going?”

“Arts building,” Roxas said shortly.

“Arts building,” Sora echoed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

Roxas raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Nope. No reason to, I suppose. I don’t even know where it is, actually.”

“Have you got anywhere to be right now?”

Sora shrugged.

“Well, come on, then,” Roxas said. “I’ll show you.”

They left the dorm after a cumbersome trip down the stairs (pun intended) and stepped back out into the late summer sunshine.

“So how have you never been to the arts building?” Roxas asked.

Sora shook his head. “I can barely find my way to the buildings I have class in every day. I don’t need to know about the places I never go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This city is big for you?”

“Dude, have you ever been to Destiny Islands?”

 “Just the mainland.”

“Well, I’m not from the mainland,” said Sora, “and let me tell you, it’s _tiny_. I could probably walk the whole place in two hours if I tried hard enough.”

“I wonder what would happen if I just set you loose in Twilight Town one day,” Roxas mused. “How long would it take you to get lost?”

“I wouldn’t even move,” Sora replied. “I’d lie on the ground and start crying for Kairi.”

Roxas looked at him quizzically. “Girlfriend?”

“Nah, just normal friend. She might as well be my sister. At least a cousin or something. She’s Designated Sora Handler.”

He laughed. “She’s what now?”

“That’s the title my older brother Leon gave her,” Sora explained. “There was this one day when we were all playing together on the beach—I think Kairi and I were five-ish and Leon was nine—and he got so tired of having to chase after me when I ran off that he passed the job on to Kairi. Honestly I think she took it a bit more seriously than he meant.”

“Did you ever actually run away?”

“No, I just sort of went on unannounced several-hour-long adventures...”

And on it went, until they reached their destination. It was only a seven-or-so-minute walk to where they were headed, and if Roxas hadn’t put an arm out to physically stop Sora, he would’ve just kept walking. It wasn’t a very showy building: its outer walls were red and brown bricks, like almost all the other oldish buildings in the area, without any signs or any noticeable features to tell it apart from the others at its sides. It wasn’t particularly _artsy_ , either—Sora had been expecting maybe a newfangled sculpture or a garden out front, or at least some cool-looking windows. All things considered, he thought, it was wildly unimpressive.

Roxas seemed to read his mind, not for the first time that day. “Looks pretty dull, huh?” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s just a ruse to keep out all the unwanted college kids.”

“You’re a college kid, Roxas.”

“Yeah, but I’m a _cool_ college kid.”

Sora snorted. “Alright, Mr. Personality.”

Roxas glared at him and brandished his guitar case threateningly, so Sora quickly ran ahead and held the door open for him. He was having a perfectly lovely day and would not have it ruined by getting whacked with a guitar by his new roommate.

The immediate inside of the building was not much different than the outside. It was a little dark, actually, with a low ceiling and brick walls that reminded Sora of a cave (and made him glad he wasn’t claustrophobic), but the ceiling sloped up quickly, and the narrow entrance gave away to a much wider space. At first it looked like any other school building—classrooms, visual art showcases, backpacks lying against the walls—but another narrow hallway in and suddenly, they out stepped into something of a miniature atrium, with walls made of windows and a ceiling like a giant skylight. Sora’s mouth fell open as he craned his neck backwards, staring.

“Right?” said Roxas, clearly enjoying himself. “Right?”

“Yeah,” said Sora, nodding absently.

“C’mon, I’ll show you something else that’s cool.”

Roxas led him through the atrium and out another hallway before turning and, a finger at his lips, gesturing to a shut wooden door.

 _Listen_ , he mouthed.

Sora frowned and leaned towards the door, with the distinct impression that they weren’t supposed to be doing whatever it was they were doing right now. He had no idea what to expect, but thankfully the only thing he could hear coming from the other side of the door was music, though barely audible. He was about to step back and explain this to Roxas, but suddenly the door opened and he fell right through.

He caught himself just before he hit the floor, but that didn’t stop an embarrassingly loud gasp from escaping from his lips. He whirled around to glower at Roxas, who was caught in a fit of silent laughter.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he whisper-shouted, wheezing. “ _Accident._ ”

Sora folded his arms, one eyebrow raised in an expression of dry distaste, as he waited for the other to catch his breath. When he did (finally), he led the two of them through the door into a small, rectangular room full of computers—not exactly what Sora was expecting, but he wasn’t that surprised. Digital art was a thing, after all. The music was louder here, but still not immediate. It was nothing modern, as far as he could tell. Roxas ushered him towards a door on their left now, and he found himself thinking that this building was strangely labyrinthine. Why were all these rooms attached? _Poor design_ , he supposed, _though that glass room back there was pretty amazing, especially for being so well hidden and—_

Whoops.

Sora hastily stepped back towards the doorway as he realized he was intruding—this new room was for an ensemble, clearly, large and circular with chairs and stands arranged in a purposeful pattern on the wooden floor, but there was only one person there. It was a boy probably about his age, sitting at the grand piano in the dim lighting, long, silvery hair tucked behind his ears. There was no paper music in front of him, and for a crazy moment, it almost looked as if he might be playing with his eyes closed. Completely absorbed in his music, he hadn’t noticed the interruption that was Sora.

And it was beautiful music. The melody was captivating, swaying, driven by an uneven, almost waltz-like rhythm. It was delicate, then strong, but never loud. The boy playing gave off an ethereal aura, like he was a creation of the music and not the other way around. It was difficult to tell which was truly the work of art.

Roxas was grinning. “He’s good, isn’t he?” he whispered.

“ _Good?_ ” Sora breathed, awestruck. “He’s...I’ve never... _how_...”

“I tried to talk to him all the time last year,” Roxas continued, “but it was harder than you’d think. He always sorta ran away, you know? Avoided my questions and then claimed he had to be somewhere. Just shy, I guess. Made me feel kinda bad sometimes.”

Sora felt a familiar pang of loneliness run through him. “Does he have friends?”

“Yeah, he talks to this porcupine-looking guy and my friend Naminé,” Roxas said, “but apparently that’s because they’ve all known each other forever.”

“What’s his name?” asked Sora, distantly wondering what _porcupine-looking_ meant.

“Ri—”

“Did I hear my name?”

They both turned around, letting the door to the studio shut behind them. At the other entrance to the computer lab stood a short, blonde-haired girl in a white sundress, carrying a canvas tote bag over one shoulder and a wide-brimmed hat in the opposite hand.

“Roxas, don’t you have somewhere to be, like, five minutes ago?” she said pointedly before either of them could get a word in, then headed back out towards the atrium.

Roxas glanced hastily at the analog clock on the wall. “Shit!” he yelped, hoisting up his guitar case. “Sora, I gotta run, text me if you’re still here in an hour.” Then he dashed out the door, crying, “Nami, wait for me!”

Sora blinked. Well, now he was alone, and likely to get lost within 180 seconds. Would it be worth it to wait a full hour for Roxas, doing nothing? He could always call Kairi if he needed to. But...

He turned around, looking towards the ensemble room where he could hear the pianist still playing, and frowned. _If Roxas still hasn’t had a conversation with him after a whole year,_ he asked himself, _what makes you think you can?_

He still wanted to try, though.

Making as little noise as he could, he pushed open the door to the ensemble room and stepped inside, staying in the shadows by the heavy velvet curtains draped against the walls as he listened. The song was slowing again, growing soft and indistinct, but when it was over, the hollow it left in the air felt massive.

Sora cleared his throat quietly, taking a few steps toward the piano; the boy gave a tiny start and glanced at him over his shoulder. Sora realized that, contrary to his practically perfect posture a moment before, he had visibly begun to slouch, like he was trying to curl into himself.

“What was that?” he asked. “It was beautiful.”

_Mumble mumble._

“Uh...pardon me?”

“Nocturne in B flat minor. By Chopin.” Just perceptible this time.

Sora blinked, struggling for words. This was a great time to remember he didn’t know a thing about music.

“I have to go,” the boy said abruptly, standing up so quickly the bench made a screeching sound on the wooden floor. He grabbed his book bag from a nearby chair and, before Sora could protest, bolted from the room through a door hidden behind the curtains.

Well, then.

Roxas hadn’t been wrong, but he certainly had undersold it. This kid wasn’t _just shy_ —he was shier than a wild rabbit. Painfully shy, Sora thought. Downright skittish. It was hard to imagine him having friends at all. But he did, apparently.

And suddenly, Sora decided he was going to be one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Nocturne in B flat minor_ \- F. Chopin, Op. 9 No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7b3TNiPjQq4)


	2. Ascolta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Listen_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in a lot of small pieces, which sort of bothers me, but I’m happy with what I got accomplished. One of my biggest writing problems is not getting to the actual plot quick enough (or at all). In fact, at the top of this fic’s Word document is a not-even-passive-aggressive note to myself in all caps: “WRITE SOME PLOT U PIECE OF SHIT.”  
> Don’t believe me? I wrote plot this chapter, didn’t I?  
> Love from Beth

By the end of the next fortnight, Sora could proudly say he knew exactly where the arts building was and how to get to the ensemble studio with zero wrong turns, which was much more than he could’ve said freshman year about the locations of his actual classes. And that was no easy task, mind you—he quickly learned that whoever had designed that building was probably sadistic and definitely unreasonable. Why were there so many doors? Why all the narrow hallways and wide open rooms? What was this stupid building trying to accomplish, huh? Did it just  _want_  him to be eternally lost within its twisting, poorly lit depths? Well, he, Sora, had bested it! He knew his way now as well as if he had memorized its blueprint!

At least on the first floor.

The mystery pianist himself, however, was not such an easy mountain to conquer. Sora had almost thought Roxas was joking when he’d said that this guy legit ran away from him, but now for the life of him could not think of a better way to describe it. He just panicked. Did he think Sora was going to attack him or something? How on earth had he grown up so that his first reaction whenever he saw a stranger was to make a break for it?

But Sora was determined. The boy would have to get used to him sooner or later, after all, though he didn’t really want to keep pestering him like this—he wanted a conversation. What could he say or do that would keep them in the same room together for more than 30 seconds? All he knew about this kid was that he liked music, and when it came down to it, even that was an assumption, and Kairi always said never to make assumptions.

Hm. Kairi. She’d probably have an idea about this. But for some reason that Sora could not place, he was surprisingly reluctant to tell Kairi about it at all.

That was unusual for him, seeing as he usually told Kairi about everything he did, and vice versa. But he almost felt like asking Kairi for help with this would be like asking her to...no, that was silly. Why would Kairi care if he made another friend? She was  _Kairi_ , after all; she’d be happy about it. Sora never really thought straight, but now he  _really_  wasn’t thinking straight. Something about that boy was already going to his head.

Okay. Start over. Make a list of things you know, Sora.

_One: mystery pianist is scared to death of me._

Off to a good start.

_Two: mystery pianist likes music PROBABLY. Three: Kairi will be helpful about this because she’s Kairi and will NOT be angry or anything because she’s Kairi._

Anything else? Ah, yes...

_Four: Roxas tried for a year and got nowhere so maybe don’t get your hopes up?_

Well...it was late for that.

Sora quickly learned that, if the boy even noticed how persistent he was being over those two weeks, he really did not care. He didn’t even bother going to the studio at different times of the day or practicing somewhere else—after all, that piano couldn’t be the only one in the building. He simply waited until Sora announced himself, spared a few words, and left. And even though Sora knew it was coming every time, every time he still managed to escape. It was almost like he was being toyed with. And Roxas wouldn’t be of any help—he only shook his head and laughed disbelievingly whenever Sora tagged along to the arts building.

Maybe this really did call for Kairi expertise.

Kairi, unfortunately, was starting to get very busy. She played a lot of sports in her free time (volleyball, ice hockey, or soccer, depending on the season), and when she wasn’t doing that, she was doing any other reasonable college kid thing, namely  _homework_. Something that most people never suspected of Kairi was that she was an absolute math geek, and hell if Sora had never had his ear worn off by her going on about something calculus-related that he had zero understanding of. At least he had the satisfaction of being asked for help on research papers.

So Sora spent about three full weekdays pestering Kairi to hang out with him, something that he still wasn’t used to and didn’t really like, seeing as the first seventeen years of their lives they’d been practically inseparable and barely had anything to do. Finally, that Friday, they agreed to meet up at a café at a time too early for Sora’s preference, but which he decided was better than nothing (the ungodly hour of 9 o’clock in the morning).  _Oh, well_ , he thought, dragging his feet on the pavement after having pulled himself out of bed.  _There’s always caffeine to look forward to._

When Sora arrived, Kairi was sitting at a two-person table by a window in the corner of the café, two muffins in front of her and a cup of coffee on her right. Even though it was first thing in the morning (at least for him), her auburn locks were perfectly arranged and she looked completely awake. Though that wasn’t unusual. Kairi was really great at pretending to be a morning person—Sora knew she was probably dead on the inside and was just too dignified to show it.

She slid him one of the muffins as he sat down on the other side of the table. “Chocolate chip,” she said, “and this one’s blueberry, so don’t even think about touching it.”

Ahh, sugar _._  “I love you,” he replied instantly, eliciting an eyeroll from his friend. “Almost as much as I love chocolate.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not ordering your coffee,” she continued, smirking, “but your tastes are so  _defined_  that I really wouldn’t be sure what to ask for.”

Sora snorted. “And heavens forbid you order something  _strange_  that might tarnish your reputation of only ever drinking it black.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “I do not drink black coffee. Though I’m pleased you think I can tolerate that.”

“Kairi, if you can tolerate that disgusting vegetable tea you drink you can tolerate anythi—”

“ _So_ , darling,” she interrupted forcefully, “now that we’ve thoroughly affronted each other’s tastes in caffeinated beverages, how about we put the sarcasm away for a while and have a civilized conversation?”

Sora grinned, because he’d won this round. “Sure,” he said easily. “I have a question for you. Well, really it’s more of a stor...why are you looking at me like that?”

Kairi had an eyebrow raised, a dry expression on her face. “Sora, whenever you say you have a question for me, you turn it into three different anecdotes and a five-minute-long rant and by the end you’ve forgotten the question.”

“I do not!” he protested. “This time I need the story, I promise! It wouldn’t make sense if I just asked you right off the bat.”

“I bet it would if you tried really, really hard.”

“I’m not that good with words.”

Kairi groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Sora, are you really—? You know what, just—just go on.”

“Okay!” He took a giant bite of his muffin, swallowed it all in one gulp, and (ignoring Kairi’s look of distaste) launched into his spiel.

 

♫♩

 

“Let me get this straight. First, your new roommate randomly took you to the arts building.”

“Yes.”

“Then he showed you this room where some random guy always practices piano.”

“Yes.”

“You tried to talk to him and he ran away.”

“Yes.”

“And with approximately zero knowledge about him, you now want to try and keep him from running away long enough to have a real conversation.”

“Yes.”

Kairi bit her lip, pensive, but Sora could tell she was forcing back a smile. “Honestly, it kind of sounds like Roxas was trying to set you up.”

He stared at her. “Huh?”

She laughed a little and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I understand now why you wanted to ask me about this.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah! I’m the most socially capable person you know.” She took a bite of her muffin and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s pretty hard to get someone to overcome their shyness, though.”

“I noticed,” Sora grumbled.

“So you just gotta pretend he’s not that shy,” she continued, as if it were obvious. “Make a friend.”

“Kairi, that is the least helpful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, I’m serious!” she insisted. “Look, you don’t remember how you and I met, do you? We were just  _always_  friends, we just clicked. In a couple years, you probably won’t remember your first conversation with Roxas or that you went out to lunch or anything like that, because it was so natural that it won’t need to be remembered. But sometimes there are people that you remember exactly how you met, aren’t there?”

Sora frowned. “Well, yeah.”

“That’s because it was something really specific that brought you together, or there was a lot of effort involved,” she explained. “Maybe it took a while before you found something in common, or you noticed something right off the bat that interested you. You probably don’t remember this, but Selphie and I didn’t really talk much until she started playing volleyball with me and we found a common interest.”

She was right—he didn’t remember that. But he still didn’t think it’d be that easy. “I don’t know anything he likes,” Sora protested. “And I don’t know anything about music.”

“Sure you do,” Kairi said. “You listen to it.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

“Then  _ask_ , you imbecile!” She huffed, annoyed. “Have you been shadowing him for two weeks or what? Doesn’t Roxas know him?”

Sora made a petulant expression that could only be described as pouting. The truth was, Roxas had mentioned the boy’s name twice now, so quickly and offhandedly that Sora hadn’t caught it. “Not really...”

Kairi sighed. “You shouldn’t be so nervous about this.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You look nervous. Why don’t you ask him to play something for you?”

“Play—play music?”

“No, play ball.  _What_  else would he play, Sora?”

“Sorry, sorry!” He slid a bit lower in his chair, attempting to hide behind his muffin. “What kind of music?”

“Anything you like, darling.”

They were silent for a moment, and Sora listened to the bustle of the café around them, thinking about music. He could probably find something for the mystery pianist to play—after all, he doubted he could find something too difficult. He looked at the ceiling for a moment—uninteresting—then eyed Kairi’s coffee, which was mostly untouched. “You gonna drink that?”

She shook her head and slid it to him; he took a sip, made a face, then kept drinking.

“That’s how I feel about our friendship,” Kairi said snidely, and Sora stuck out his tongue.

 

♫♩

 

He left his meeting with Kairi feeling better, but still without a definite plan of action. He couldn’t decide what sort of song to pick—he felt like choosing something written specifically for piano would make it seem like he was trying to appear more educated on the matter than he was, but would a classically trained pianist know about songs that came on the radio? But then, did Sora himself know about songs that came on the radio? He didn’t own a radio. Or a television. He was probably two years behind all pop culture, which made him practically ancient. What if the mystery pianist actually did follow that sort of thing, and he made of fool of himself with a topic he should, as a teenage boy, totally be educated in?

No, it’d be better to go classical.

And then there was the problem of the music itself—he couldn’t just name a random piano piece and expect the guy to play it on the spot. He would need paper copies. Sheet music, or whatever. Oh, but who did he know who probably had sheet music or means of getting it?

Thank God for Roxas. Maybe Roxas  _was_  the deity at this point.  _Now he just needs to be dramatically martyred and he’ll be the next Marat_ , Sora thought, laughing to himself; then he frowned.  _Though I suppose that would make me Robespierre, wouldn’t it...?_

Okay, scratch that. Roxas was  _not_  the deity. No Cults of Supreme Beings here, no sir. That didn’t make any sense, anyway.

The next time he saw Roxas was that evening, when he returned to their dorm room looking thoroughly disheveled and in a decidedly rotten mood. He dropped his backpack and guitar case before he even shut the door, then kicked off his shoes and flopped down on his bed.

Sora raised his eyebrows, looking up from a book he was supposed to have finished by now. “Well, how are you?”

“Spectacular. I’ve just been physically assaulted by the stairwell.” Then he glared at his guitar case, as if it were the guitar’s fault.

Sora began to laugh, but hastily turned it into a cough as Roxas threw him the same dirty look he had given his instrument. “That, er, sounds rough,” he said. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Roxas froze, eyeing him strangely. “Yes?”

“Where does one obtain sheet music?”

There was a split-second of silence; then, at an apparent loss for words, he forced out, “Why?”

“I met with Kairi this morning, who, in her own words, is the most socially capable person I know,” Sora explained. “She thinks I might be able to talk to that guy if I can get him to play something for me.”

For a moment, Roxas looked as though he were sharing an inside joke with himself, but it was gone in an instant. “There is such a thing as a music store, you know,” he said. “You’re looking for piano music?”

“I guess so.”

“Look at Ludovico Einaudi. Nami really likes his stuff, since it’s pretty simple and she can’t actually play. You can find a lot of it online.”

Again, like he was laughing at something that no one else would find funny. Sora narrowed his eyes. “Ludovico Einaudi,” he repeated slowly, imagining the spelling in his head.

“Yep.”

Another pause, longer this time. Suddenly, Roxas snapped, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Sora instantly put a normal face back on. “Like what?” he asked innocently.

“You were looking at me funny!”

“ _You_  were looking at  _me_ funny!”

“Yeah, well, I had a reason.”

“So you admit it!”

Roxas grinned at him, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “C’mon, man! You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“Oh, boy, bringing out the expletives. You have got to meet Kairi. Give me my earbuds, they’re on my bed.”

Roxas tossed them over. “You’re way more intrepid than I was,” he remarked. “I certainly never went so far out of my way to try and talk to a stranger.”

 _Then maybe you’ve never been lonely_ , Sora didn’t say, mostly because he thought it’d be hypocritical, or presumptuous—he wasn’t lonely himself, he didn’t think, and he had no idea if his mystery pianist was, either. But he thought it, and for a moment, it made perfect sense.

Unlike comparing Roxas to Marat and himself to Robespierre. Seriously,  _what_  had he been thinking?

As it turned out, this Einaudi guy had written a lot of music—a shit ton, to use a technical term. He scrolled through the long list, looking for something interesting. There was no proverb that said not to judge a song by its title, so that was what he did.  _Fly, In un’altra vita, Waterways, La Profondità del Buio..._ the composer was Italian, apparently, if that hadn’t been obvious from his name...

“‘ _Love Is a Mystery’_?” Sora muttered aloud, surprised into speech. That didn’t really fit with the other, more poetic-sounding titles (or at least poetic-looking).

“Hm?” Roxas said instantly.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

Yeah, Roxas was definitely laughing at him.

Sora just ignored him, plugging in his earbuds and picking a piece titled  _Primavera_ , because he knew what it meant and springtime was always nice (unless it was for Hitler and Germany). He wasn’t expecting much, but the song hadn’t played for a full ten seconds when he realized he had been staring at the same word on the same page (“ever”) since it had started. It was...really pretty. Were the others like this, too?

He let it play for another minute or so before going back to the playlist to listen to any others that caught his eye. They all had the same sort of even, steady melodies driven by a less noticeable background pattern that kept the pace. They were all piano, sometimes with a violin, too—at least, until he got to the last one. It was titled  _Ascolta_ , which didn’t strike any chords in the linguistic portion of his brain. Nor did it instantly sound like an Einaudi, because it was electronic.

It didn’t sound  _unlike_  an Einaudi, exactly, but the immediately obvious use of computer-generated music was certainly new. The piano didn’t even come in until the first minute was halfway over, and it was a slow song. But it was intriguing, and Sora sat through the entire thing, listening to the piece’s subtle progression and the constant presence of an electronic pulse.

Well, now he knew what he wanted his mystery pianist to play.

 

♫♩

 

Actually getting him to play it, he presumed, would be a different story. He had not foreseen, however, one very important factor.

Sora had found that the ensemble studio was used by what were probably the actual ensembles on Saturdays almost the entire day, so he went to the library that day to print out the music he’d found. Sunday mornings the studio was quiet (perhaps the boy went to church?), but that Sunday afternoon when Sora checked, sure enough, there he was.  _He might as well live here_ , Sora thought with a little bit of a laugh, mostly to distract himself—he was suddenly very nervous. What if this didn’t work at all? What if he barely got a word in before the boy ran away?

No, this time it’d work. It would definitely work. And if not...well, there was always tomorrow.

Sora decided to take a slightly different tactical approach this time. He knew it was rude, but instead of waiting for the boy to finish his piece, he knocked on the studio’s heavy wooden door and announced his presence almost immediately—right in the middle of the song.

The pianist, who, over the past two weeks, had gotten somewhat used to Sora appearing randomly during his practice times, nearly fell off the bench in surprise. Sora instantly felt bad, but at least he had gotten his attention. That was step one over with.

“Um,” Sora said intelligently, trying to pretend the boy’s stare didn’t unsettle him a little. “Hi.”

Silence.

“Uh...” He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

Silence, but no protests.

“Could you, ah, maybe...play something for me?” He swallowed. “If I asked really nicely?”

For a fleeting moment, the ghost of a smile appeared on the boy’s lips. “I can try,” he said quietly, sounding less meek than he sometimes did. Then he nodded towards the papers in Sora’s hand. “Is it that?”

He glanced down at the sheet music, surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah!” he stammered, bewildered at how well this was going. “Yeah, it’s, uh...yeah. I think it’s simple. No! That’s not what I meant. I meant you’ll probably find it easy. I mean...uh...”

The boy held out a hand, and after another empty split-second, Sora realized he was gesturing for the music and quickly gave it to him. “It’s, uh, a more electronic-sounding song,” he explained, aware that he sounded high-strung. “I wanted to hear how it sounds on just piano, and since I can’t play—is something wrong?”

The faintest hint of surprise had shone on his face for an instant, but it was gone now. Instead, the boy’s eyes—a brilliant, impossible shade of aquamarine—looked almost pleased. “You like Einaudi?”

Sora blinked. “What? Oh, yeah! Very, um, pretty.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, which for him meant nodding twice. “His pieces are lovely,” he agreed. “The notes aren’t complicated but sometimes you have to think a bit about the rhythm. It’s a really nice change from, say, Mozart, whose pieces are hard to play but easy to predict if you’ve learned enough of them.”

Sora didn’t understand the distinction, and even if he could have, he was barely listening to anything coming out of the boy’s mouth—he was too focused on the fact that his mystery pianist was finally  _speaking_ to him. And so much! This was the most he’d ever said without stopping!  _Wait till I tell Kairi—!_

“ _Ascolta_  is one of my favorites of his, actually,” the boy continued. “I know what you mean about the electronic effect. I can definitely play it for you.”

“Th-that’s great!” Sora spluttered, deciding he’d have to tell Roxas thank you every day for the next week. “I’m—I’m really glad.”

He nodded again, smiling distantly, before suddenly dropping into a slight slouch and tearing his gaze away. Sora frowned and started to ask what was wrong, but he barely got a word out.

“Are you—”

“I, um...” The boy faltered, searching for words. “I have two questions for you first. If that’s—alright.”

He sighed in relief. “Of course that’s alright.”

“Firstly, what’s your name?”

Sora beamed at him. “I’m Sora! Er—Sora, that is. I didn’t mean to shout.”

“I’m Riku,” said his not-so-mystery pianist. “Nice to, uh,  _meet_  you.”

Sora stared at him, briefly shocked—had that been a  _joke_? This guy knew how to make  _jokes_  now? That was awesome! He shook his head, recovering quickly. “And secondly?”

“Secondly,” Riku said slowly, “why on  _earth_  have you been watching me practice for the past two weeks straight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Ascolta_  - L. Einaudi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IGrZ74vS3A)  
> And while you’re at it, listen to [ _Primavera_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmxFAT581T4), too. Or literally anything he’s written.
> 
> YO WHO GOT MY PRODUCERS REFERENCE


	3. Serenata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Serenade_ : a piece of music sung or played in the open air, typically for a lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish. Thought I was gonna cover more stuff, but I just took more time on less stuff, which is still fine. This is looking to be a slow build, kids, so I hope you’re ready. Also I kept wanting to use musical terminology this chapter but couldn’t because SORA KNOWS NOTHING and it was frustrating. Curse his adorable soul.  
> Love from Beth

Riku was, as Sora gradually discovered, something of a music freak.

Okay, that just made Sora sound like an idiot. No, Riku was really something else. It was phenomenal. Sora already knew he had never encountered anything quite like him, but now that the guy was actually speaking to him it was becoming more and more obvious.

And Sora liked him. That was all there was to it.

“—and you can really just _feel_ the rhythm in it, it’s like it’s speaking to you. I know you’re technically supposed to count when you first learn a song, especially if there’s no pace-keeping pattern, but sometimes you just don’t _have_ to, and it comes out on its own, bowing and all...”

At first, Sora thought that Riku talked so much about music because he just didn’t know what else to talk about, and that was partially true. Attempts at conversations about books or movies or school always went okay, but sometimes seemed a little superficial, since he was a rather serious person. It became increasingly unmistakable that music was really his favorite thing.

“—and _this_ one was so annoying, oh my God, the F-sharp major bit totally killed me, and putting the two hands together was like—like trying to get a fox and a possum to mate—”

But sometimes he said stuff like _that_ , and Sora couldn’t help but laugh himself a stitch in the side, and only shook his head and wiped his eyes when Riku asked what he’d said wrong.

“Sora, are you listening?”

He started, snapping himself out of his thoughts. They were sitting facing each other on the floor of the ensemble room, a habit that they had gotten into since Sora had asked Riku to play him _Ascolta_ —which he had, and incredibly well, of course. It was late Thursday afternoon, and Sora suspected that the two of them had been here so long partially to be friends and partially just to procrastinate (as was always on any student’s agenda). Riku was filing through an absolute mess of a sheet music folder, making piles of papers to throw out and papers to keep, and talked animatedly about what he liked or didn’t like about certain pieces. Sora had a textbook and notebook open, but he’d forgotten a pencil.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he said, and it wasn’t entirely untruthful. “But I can’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

This was the wrong comment to make. Riku’s face fell instantly into an expression that Sora couldn’t quite identify, a strange mix between fear, dismay, and anxiety. “I’m sorry!” he cried, his voice going faint with distress. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“Nonono!” Sora interrupted quickly, slightly panicked. “You’re not bothering me at all! I just—don’t understand the technicalities much, is all. I’d like to learn, though,” he added.

Riku frowned, looking slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. “We can talk about something else...”

“No,” Sora said firmly, “you’re fine. Here...” He pushed his books away and slid over to sit at Riku’s side. “Let me help you with this.”

Riku made a face. “It’s hopeless. It never lasts more than a month after I organize it.”

“Maybe you need a binder or something, so you can alphabetize it,” Sora suggested, reaching over and yanking a wad of paper from one of the folder’s pockets. “This stuff looks like it was printed in the eighties. Was this torn out of a book? Why don’t these have page numbers? I’m already lost.”

He laughed a little, but it was more like a grimace. “I told you.”

Sora held two pieces of paper out at arm’s length, squinting at them. “Then again, I get lost pretty easily. Why do these look so different?”

“You mean how this one has only treble clef while the other one has bass clef too?”

He blinked.

Riku leaned over him to point to a spot on the piece of paper. “This thing here isn’t on the other one. Is that what you meant?”

Sora nodded, noting vaguely that Riku’s fingernails were very clean and well-filed and that it didn’t seem uncharacteristic.

“That’s because this one’s violin music,” he clarified. “A piano has a much wider range, so it can cover two clefs. Violin only uses the higher-ranged clef.”

It took Sora a moment to absorb the true meaning of this explanation. “You play violin?”

“Well...yes,” he said slowly.

Sora resisted the urge to gape at him. “Do you play anything else?”

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Not really. Some cello, and a little viola, though I’m really bad at reading alto clef. For a little while I tried oboe, too, but that was a...” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “A mistake.”

Sora laughed awkwardly. “Really? I can’t imagine you not being good at music.”

Riku shook his head. “I’m not really cut out for wind instruments.”

A number of disjointed thoughts ran through Sora’s mind then as he took this all in, including things like _is he for real?_ and _the universe does not make people this talented_ , but all he managed to say was, “How come I’ve never seen you practice your violin, then?”

Riku shifted slightly, glancing around. “I don’t like playing violin in this room,” he mumbled. “Too echo-y. Or...something. I don’t know.”

“But you have it here? Your violin?

“Yes, sh—it’s here. I usually practice in the ceramics room when it’s free, on Sunday mornings mostly. It’s much more open in there. Throw that song away.”

Sora shrugged and tossed what Riku was referring to into the trash pile, figuring that it wouldn’t do him any good to keep being shocked every time this guy threw him for a loop. He was starting to get used to it. “I’d like to hear you play violin, too,” he said.

Riku stared at the keep pile for a moment. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, but said lightly, “Well, you watch me practice anyway, so I don’t suppose it matters one way or the other.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t perform a lot.”

Sora frowned. “Is that considered performing? I’m not much of an audience.”

“Well, usually my audience is those empty band chairs over there, so...”

This was a fair point, but he still wasn’t sure how his presence changed so much for Riku. Hadn’t other people listened to him play before? If they hadn’t, they sure were missing out.

They sorted papers a short while longer, Riku continuing to tell amusing little narratives as they went. When less than half the initial amount of music was left in the folder, they threw away the trash and packed up, shoving their things into their backpacks. Riku stopped to retie his shoelaces before getting up, a thoroughly mundane action that Sora found alarmingly endearing, then stood still for a moment as if he weren’t sure where he was going now.

“I’ll, um...see you,” he said finally.

“Sunday morning?” Sora suggested.

Riku flashed him a tiny smile. “If you can get to the ceramics room.”

“I—I can get there,” he stammered. “I know how to ask for directions.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Oh, you’ll find out,” Sora snapped.

Riku laughed, and the sound made Sora’s crankiness evaporate instantly. “Come on, let’s go.”

This was the first time they would leave the building at the same time, together. They made their way through the network of hallways and out into the quasi-atrium, still talking quietly. It wasn’t until they actually left the building that Sora realized he had no idea where Riku’s housing was.

“Hey, where on campus are you?” he asked, holding the door for Riku behind him out of habit of doing so for Roxas. “Your dorm, I mean. You are in a dorm, right?”

Riku made an odd facial expression, as he often did to make up for any lack of expression in his voice. “No, actually. I’m on campus, but I live alone.”

Sora raised an eyebrow. “You live alone? How’d you manage that?”

“My parents,” he said. “They hated my roommate last year—like, really, _hated_ him—and they were so afraid something like that might happen again that they made me get an apartment this year.”

This didn’t make an awful lot of sense to Sora. “What was so bad about your roommate?”

“They thought he was insane. He’s a little—peculiar, I guess, with his fair share of idiosyncrasies, but he’s not really crazy.”

“You don’t sound very convinced,” Sora noted pointedly.

There was a short pause, and Riku sighed. “Okay, he’s kind of crazy,” he admitted. “And very, uh, energetic. I don’t think he sleeps. And he hits on anything that talks, but it’s obvious he never really means it so it’s not that weird.” He stopped, then asked, sounding a little desperate, “Is it?”

Sora just shook his head, bemused.

“Well, anyway,” he continued, a bit aggressively, “he’s my friend, so none of that matters.”

They walked for another couple blocks before parting ways, but after only a few steps in opposite directions, a thought occurred to Sora and he abruptly turned on his heel and ran back around.

“Hey, Riku! Wait a second!”

Riku flinched involuntarily as he turned to face Sora, who stopped just in time to prevent a collision. “W-what?”

“Can I, um...” He took a step back and ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Can I have your phone number?”

Riku looked the sort of polite surprised that a person looked when they were genuinely offered a favor, and Sora wasn’t quite sure why. “Of course,” he said indifferently. “But be warned I don’t respond to texts very quickly. Or even look at my phone. I misplace the thing at least once every day.”

Sora’s grin widened. “You’ll be out of that habit soon enough,” he promised, digging his cell out of his pocket and handing it to Riku, who punched in a number and handed it back.

“There you are, Sora,” he said, voice and expression still pleasantly neutral.

“Thanks,” replied Sora. “See you Sunday, Ri.”

Only sparing a moment to indulge in the startled expression on the other’s face in response to the nickname, he took off at a brisk pace down the pavement feeling thoroughly pleased with himself and didn’t look back.

 

♫♩

 

Sora, in addition to tailing and eventually actually hanging out with his mystery pianist (mystery musician, rather), had also been spending a lot of time over the past few days trying to find a time when he, Kairi, and Roxas were all free, because Kairi and Roxas just _had_ to meet. The opportunity came abruptly the next day, when Kairi texted him to say she had her first class cancellation of the year ( _gotta love flu season_ ) and would probably be free that evening since she now had time to finish most her work. Sora had then immediately called Roxas, whose schedule was much more unpredictable, and told him stoutly that if their friendship was important to him he would clear his night so he could finally meet the Kairi of Sora-handling fame. Roxas, ever charming, replied he’d have to fill up his schedule for the next whole week just because Sora had said that. So they met with Kairi for dinner, at the same restaurant where Roxas and Sora had first truly met (ah, memories), and had a perfectly civil evening.

Well, no.

Sora was almost beginning to regret his decision by the end of the evening. Roxas and Kairi instantly bonded over their mutual enjoyment of making fun of Sora (among other things), and while Sora could tell that Kairi was bothered (as ever) by the constant leaping about in the conversation, she made much more of an effort to follow it than when it was just her and Sora. This was sometimes pretty comical, since Kairi was having the time of her life trying to keep up with the two of them, but other times it was downright terrifying, because she had gradually discovered that she could change the topic of conversation pretty much whenever she wanted and Roxas would simply jump right in. It was a dangerous game they were playing. At first they kept the conversation relatively normal (sparse introductions and a lot of complaining), but eventually— _finally_ , because it was inevitable—Kairi mentioned, quite casually, Sora’s newfound interest in—

“Music?” Roxas interrupted immediately.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kairi said forcefully, over Sora’s protests. “It’s really quite _odd_ , isn’t it?”

“Oh, for sure,” he agreed. “’Course, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he never struck me as the kinda guy to—”

“I’m _right_ he— _oof!_ ”

Kairi had slid over abruptly and pushed Sora into the wall. “Darling, did you say something?”

Sora just twisted awkwardly and glared at her. Roxas coughed into his collar.

“And anyway, Sor,” Kairi continued, aggressive yet sweet, “it’s not like there’s anything _wrong_ with it. It’s just funny! What exactly was it that got you into this again?”

Sora glared harder. Roxas wheezed slightly, his shoulders shaking.

“Oh, yes, that’s right—you met someone! I’m always so supportive of you making friends, you know.”

“Oh, I know, Kairi,” he replied tightly. Roxas slumped down in his seat, clutching his side, and waved away a staring waitress who had stopped at their table with a water pitcher.

Kairi moved back to her side of the booth, looking pleased with herself, and Sora huffed. “I can’t believe you finally figured out his name.”

“I’m not that socially inept!” Sora protested. “I got his phone number yesterday.”

“That is actually kind of impressive,” Roxas admitted. “I mean, I tried to talk to this guy for almost a whole year and got nowhere. Good on you, Sora.”

Sora beamed, and Kairi rolled her eyes. “Clearly you’ve never seen Sora when he sets his mind to something,” she said dryly. “He’ll never let it alone.”

“I’m very perseverant,” he agreed.

“You’re meddling, is what you are.”

He sighed. “Roxas, aren’t you glad I introduced you two?”

Roxas’ face broke into a wicked grin. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

♫♩

 

Sunday dawned bright and clear. Sora did have to get directions, but he only went down two wrong corridors trying to find the ceramics room. He made sure to remember to brag about it.

It was an easterly room, in a back corner of the building, with a lot of windows. Countless weavings and posters were hung from the door and walls, and a motley collection of mobiles, baubles, string lights, and paper ornaments dangled from the ceiling. There were two long tables and a collection of mismatching chairs on one half of the room, covered in newspaper or old cloth to protect them from clay and glaze. The other half of the room was full of sinks, garbage bins, and what he assumed were appliances to help make pottery. Several indoor plants and a positive mountain of art books sat on the back counter, in an optimum position for absorbing sunlight—the plants were flourishing and the books were yellowed. Hidden behind an extremely ugly knit curtain was a cabinet set with a blackboard attached to the front (all that was on it was a well-shaded sketch of an apple in purple chalk). The entire room practically screamed _art student_.

And, of course, sat cross-legged atop a table, hair tucked behind his ears and violin in his lap, was Riku.

“Chairs not good enough for you?” Sora asked, grinning.

Riku looked at him briefly. “I have horrible posture in chairs,” he said. “You should see me when I study.”

Sora shrugged and hoisted himself onto the table beside him. “That’s your violin?”

Riku made a funny face, raising an eyebrow. “Whose else?”

He just laughed and leaned over to get a better look at it. The silvery strings shone dully in the morning sunlight, and the dark, mahogany-colored wood was well polished. Still, there was something unmistakably well worn and _old_ about the violin, and the feeling it emanated, like it was a hallow of history. And it felt personal, too—there was something much more private, even secret, about this instrument that actually belonged to Riku.

“Are those scratches?” Sora asked, peering at the violin.

“Oh, yeah...she’s pretty old.”

He glanced up. “‘She’?”

Riku blinked, then seemed to realize what he’d said and promptly went a delicate shade of pink, looking horrified. “Uh...”

Sora had to force himself not to smile. “Your violin is a she?”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?”

“Her name is Leah.”

A small part of Sora’s mind went, _That’s a little weird_ , but a much larger part went, _That is so_ fucking _adorable._

“Anyway,” Riku continued quickly, turning to rummage furiously through the still-messy folder at his side, “I hope you brought something to do, because I’m usually here for at least an hour and all I’ll be doing is practicing.”

Sora hadn’t brought anything to do, but he figured that his mere presence would be enough to distract Riku to the point where he only managed to practice for twenty minutes max. At least, it worked with Kairi, and she had the self-control of a brick wall. So Sora just stayed where he was and watched as Riku went about his merry musical business.

The first thing he did was pick at the violin’s— _Leah’s_ —strings a bit and turn the small dials near the bottom—tuning, Sora assumed. The first three strings were seemingly fine, for the most part, but then he plucked the highest one and winced, looking as though somebody had shoved spoiled milk under his nose. For a second, Sora could’ve sworn his cheeks had actually gone a little paler, a contrast from his slight blush only moments before, but before he could tell, Riku turned away and started fiddling with one of the pegs at the top of the violin.

It was an interesting process to witness, like watching someone piece together a jigsaw puzzle. He went from string to peg to dial and back, and Sora could only assume he knew what exactly the right notes were and how to get them from years and years of practice. When he was finally satisfied with the violin’s sound, he reached down onto a chair for his bow and a strange little contraption with what looked like foam on it Sora had never seen before.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Shoulder rest,” Riku said as he secured it to the bottom of the violin, then twisted a screw at the end of the bow that apparently made it tighten. “You can’t play without one.”

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

“Can’t.”

He didn’t elaborate any further, and Sora felt awkward asking for him to do so, so he asked instead, “What are you going to play for me?”

For a moment, the room was silent, and the two boys were still. Then, Riku said, “For you?”

Sora blinked. “I didn’t mean—uh—that.”

Riku swallowed. “Okay. Well, it’s a serenade. By Schubert. Schubert’s music is really nice.”

That meant nothing to him. “Cool. I’ll just, uh...be here.”

Riku nodded, putting the violin up on his shoulder and the bow in a ready position, then paused again. He frowned.

“Yes?” asked Sora, nervous he’d said something really wrong.

Riku mumbled, “I guess I could be playing for you.”

“O—okay.”

He nodded again, still looking vaguely uneasy. “I’m not very good.”

“I cannot even begin to explain to you how much I don’t believe that.”

He smiled then, and began his piece.

It was very melodic, and a little repetitive, like it was meant to be sung rather than played. Something about it made Sora think of ballet, and the subtle shifts of mood and tone were both graceful and instantaneous. The pace was slow, but it wasn’t dull—it was mesmerizing. Perhaps most mesmerizing of all, though, was Riku.

Watching him play piano was incredible enough, but with the violin, he had more freedom. His motions were fluid and he leaned into accented notes, almost like he was swaying with a breeze. It even seemed natural when, with barely any pause, he slid off the table and stood in the dusty sunlight instead.

And Sora was stunned.

The piece finished simply, without any flourishes or stark changes. Riku froze in place, and even the air felt still, like the world was waking from a deep trance. He turned his head slightly, as if noticing his lone audience member for the first time.

He must’ve realized Sora staring at him then, because he abruptly dropped his violin from performance position and blurted out, “Like I said, Schubert’s stuff is really good. He wrote an amazing impromptu for piano, in G flat major. I mean, it’s hard enough to just sit down at a piano and make something up and have it sound good, but to do it in G flat major? That guy had some serious ski—”

“Look, it’s my favorite ex!”

Sora and Riku both jumped and turned to the door, where a tall, lanky figure dressed mostly in black had burst into the room. Bits of metal flashed from one of his ears in the morning light, and two violet teardrops were tattooed onto his cheeks below his startling green eyes. The most striking thing about him, however, was easily his uneven, poorly layered hair—a frankly impossible shade of red and even spikier than Sora’s own, it looked as if he’d gone through a paintball fight and a windstorm in immediate succession and then gelled it that way.

This, Sora decided, must be the porcupine.

“Oh, and who’s this?” he asked, inviting himself in and casually leaping over a chair to cross to the two of them. “New friend?”

Riku looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes with great difficulty. “This is Sora,” he said composedly. “Sora, this is my friend Axel.”

“Enchanted,” Axel assured him, not bothering to shake hands. “I can only imagine you’re as crazy as the rest of the loons who voluntarily spend their free time in this building doing _art_ , but I’m sure you’re cool.”

Momentarily stunned, Sora just blinked at him, thinking this guy probably had no business calling other people loons. “Do you play music, too, Axel?”

“Me?” He laughed. “Oh—no, no, no. I burn things.”

Sora was entirely unsure how his question elicited that response, and couldn’t quite tell if the redhead was joking. He tried more small talk. “How, uh...how do you know Riku?”

“How do _I_ know Riku?” Axel repeated, sounding both incredulous and delighted, in a manic sort of way. “Kid, I hear you stalked him for half a month!”

Sora felt his face flush, and he glared up at Axel indignantly. “I did not _stalk_ him!”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Still. Pretty creepy. Anyway, I already told you how I know him—I’m his ex.”

Pause for effect.

“Ex-roommate, that is.”

Sora was mostly unamused.

“Well,” Axel said brightly as he turned to Riku, “I gotta hunt down _nos petite souris_ , but don’t you worry! I’ll be back.”

“I know,” Riku said dryly. “Try not to burn down the building on your way.”

Axel gave a cheery wave as he left, thoroughly unfazed, and shot Sora a charming grin, which Sora did not reciprocate. For a moment, he was speechless, then rounded on Riku when Axel was completely out the door.

“ _That’s_ your old roommate?”

“Well, yes. Did I, uh...” Riku cleared his throat. “Did I mention he’s something of a pyromaniac?”

Sora frowned slightly. “No, you skipped over that little detail. But,” he added, “he’s your friend, so none of that matters.”

A look of intense gratitude appeared on Riku’s face, and Sora suddenly realized how much effort it must have taken for him to keep calm during that interaction. He had begun to slouch again, to curl into himself, and seemed to frown without realizing it. Not only was he shy, but he was too worrisome for his own good.

“Well, I guess I’d better put this away,” he said finally, pulling the shoulder rest from his violin and placing the instrument gently in its case. “When Axel comes back he’ll probably be dragging Naminé along with him, so there’s no point in practicing any longer.”

 _Naminé._ That sounded familiar. Sora shrugged and sat back down on top of the table. “That’s okay. It was a beautiful song.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, I meant—” He hesitated. “I more meant that you played it beautifully.”

There was a slight pause.

“Like I said before,” he continued, “I don’t really know much about music.”

Riku turned away then, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like _me neither_ , and busied himself with putting the rest of his things away.

The room was quiet for several minutes, and Sora wandered, looking at the posters on the walls and the plants on the sill. Once you got over the shock of it, he thought, the room’s aura was quite pleasant. He could understand why Riku liked practicing here. It was a nice change from the dim, enclosed ensemble room with its heavy curtains and yellow light.

“Yo, Sora!”

He groaned internally.

“Looks like nothing’s changed in five minutes! All the better.”

“Hi, Riku.”

That was a new voice, soft and sweet. Or—was it new? Sora turned on his heel to face the entryway, and standing there was not only Axel, but—

“Oh!” he said, because a lightbulb had gone off. “ _You’re_ Naminé!”

It was the blonde girl from the computer lab. She tilted her head slightly, as if to look at him better. “Yes, that—oh, are you that boy who was with Roxas that day?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, walking to her. “I’m Sora.”

“I’m Naminé. Though I guess you knew that.”

“She’s our little mouse,” said Axel fondly. “Not nearly as crazy as the music man over here.”

Riku and Naminé both raised an eyebrow.

Sora just sighed, hoping he’d be used to Axel soon enough. “Do you play piano, too?” he asked Naminé, in an attempt to revive normal conversation.

She shook her head. “Nah, I’m in the same music theory boat as Roxas, have you heard about that yet? All I can do is chords. I never practice.”

He turned to Riku. “Do you know music theory?”

Riku laughed a little, looking embarrassed. “I know the least about music out of everyone who spends time in this building,” he said. “I don’t even have all my key signatures memorized.”

“And yet you sound better than the rest of us combined,” Naminé joked.

Riku frowned at her. “That’s only because—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Axel interrupted impatiently. “Perfect pitch and ‘not real talent’ and ‘got lucky’ and all that bullshit.”

Sora glanced between Axel and Riku, confused. “What’s bullshit now?”

“ _Riku_ ,” said Axel loudly, so as to talk over his protesting friend, “is under the impression that he does not qualify as a ‘real musician’ because he is perfect pitch.”

“What’s perfect pitch?” Sora asked.

“It’s when you can recognize musical notes just by hearing them,” Naminé explained, conspicuously stepping on Riku’s foot to shut him up. “You can play any key on that piano and Riku can name what note it is without even looking.”

Sora’s jaw dropped. “That’s amazing!” he gasped, feeling suddenly like he was in the presence of a fantastic natural phenomenon. “But...I don’t see what that has to do with actual talent.”

Naminé and Axel both rounded on Riku and said forcefully, “ _See?_ ”

Riku winced violently and mumbled something to the floor.

“What?” Axel snapped. “Speak up, pretty boy.”

“It’s really helpful for string instruments,” Riku explained, just loud enough to be heard. “Since you have to tune them, and find exactly the right place to put your fingers down. It’s harder than pushing buttons. Or, at least, it would be...”

“Yeah, but you weren’t just _born_ amazing at music,” argued Sora. “At least not at playing it.”

“That—”

“C’mon, man, give yourself some credit!” He grinned affably. “Sometimes modesty is just too ridiculous.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Riku returned his grin with a tiny smile, and without breaking eye contact, remarked, “He’s a lot nicer than you are, Axel.”

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. YOU’RE TOO QUIET.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Ständchen (Serenade)_ \- F. Schubert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4ikzrzac4w)


	4. Scherzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Scherzo_ : lit., “I jest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos!! They’re all so sweet and they mean a lot to me as well as my productivity (as hard as that may be to believe). Love you guys <3  
> Second of all, you’ll notice that I’ve added a final chapter number, which at this point stands at a tentative eight. It’s subject to change, but the general outline is finished. If I keep going at the rate I’m going now, this should end up around 32k. Not too shabby, eh?  
>  ~~THIRD of all, I think I may write an akuroku spinoff?? Is that a good idea????~~  
>  Anyway, enjoy this chapter. Herein begins the _real_ plot.  
>  Love from Beth

Fall went in a blur, because honestly, in what part of the world do fall and spring last more than a couple weeks? Sora thought it was unfortunate, because they were pleasant seasons, generally. Upon voicing these thoughts, Roxas replied with an offhanded remark of, _I probably could not care less._

Needless to say, not everyone was as appreciative of the seasons as Sora was.

So it was Halloween before anyone knew it, and Sora pretty much missed the entire day because of stupid _college_ , which he was royally pissed about. Then it was the first of November, and then it was the second of November, and then it was _cold_.

Whereas winter cold was constant, impenetrable, and frankly a little bit miserable, autumn cold could be much more enjoyable. There were still crunchy leaves on the ground, which Sora indulged in, and pumpkin-smelling drinks in all the cafés, which he also indulged in. He laughed at Roxas whenever he left their dorm, scowling and bundled up in a scarf, hat, and coat like it was already ten below outside, and enjoyed the sight of Riku coming inside with windblown hair and pink cheeks, looking thoroughly harassed by the elements but still refusing to wear anything more than a light jacket. The first Saturday of November, Sora insisted that he, Roxas, and Riku all meet up that night and go watch a sports game or whatever the kids were doing these days. The first Sunday of November, Riku woke up with a fever of 99.8 and a spectacularly sore throat. Sora scolded him, because it was what Kairi would do, but privately considered it a small triumph—not because he’d gotten sick, of course, but because apparently the first thing that Riku had thought to do after he woke up feeling so poorly was to text Sora.

Thus the music man was bedridden, at least for a little while. Sora had gotten so used to going to the arts building Sunday mornings, though, that he found himself wanting to go even if he didn’t have Riku to accompany him. But what would he do there?

When Roxas woke up, he asked him, “Are you going to the arts building today?”

Roxas, cranky because he was unfortunately awake, said, “Not if you are.”

Sora gave him a dry look.

Roxas sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at knots. “I was going to practice with Naminé later today, if you’d like to, I dunno, attend. Why are you thinking about this first thing in the morning? Don’t you have, like, a life or something?”

“I have a life! I’m just avoiding it because it consists mostly of homework.”

Roxas laughed a little. “I guess I can respect that.”

“Don’t tell Kairi.”

“Dude, Kairi would bite off both our heads. I don’t have a death wish.”

Roxas had recently discovered that guilt trips from Kairi were enough to poison all water in the near vicinity.

The two boys took their dear time getting ready, and Sora complained that Roxas took a full five minutes to put on his scarf, but they did leave eventually, late enough to have missed the morning rush. Today they were quiet, mostly because Roxas still looked pissed about being conscious (or at all sentient), and walked a bit more quickly than usual. When they arrived at the arts building, they took a route different than either of the ones Sora usually took to see Riku. Instead, they went up to the second floor, to which Sora had never been before, and took an immediate right. This new room was less certainly interesting than the ceramics room, but it was lit with natural light and felt very clean. Longer than it was wide, there were risers on the left wall and a tall, wooden cubby filled with paper and binders on the right. Towards the back of the room, the space was more open. There was another piano, though this one looked different than the one Riku played—the word _squished_ came to Sora’s eloquent mind—and sat on the bench, looking like her day had started hours ago, was Naminé.

“Can we hurry this up?” she asked Roxas as soon as they stepped into the room. “I’ve got psych homework to do. Hi, Sora.”

“Hi, Naminé,” he replied.

“I just want to run through Turpin Hero,” Roxas said, setting his guitar case down on the risers and beginning to unpack. “I don’t feel comfortable up to tempo yet.”

Naminé shrugged. “Whenever you’re rea—”

“Turpin?” interrupted Sora. “As in the eighteenth century English highwayman Dick Turpin?”

For a moment, they both stared at him; then, Naminé said, “Uh...sure?”

He blinked at her. “You didn’t look it up?”

The two blonds glanced at each other. “Well, no,” admitted Roxas.

“What’re you doing here, anyway, Sora?” Naminé asked quickly, and Roxas resumed unpacking. “Riku’s sick.”

“I know,” Sora said, “I’m just bored. I think I’ll go see him soon.”

“He’s procrastinating,” came Roxas’ voice from behind him.

“Ah,” said Naminé understandingly. “I’d assist you in that, but I really do have to do my psych work.”

“I practice the most distinguished form of procrastination,” Sora said, setting down his bag. “See, I even brought my backpack with me, as if to inspire thoughts of actually doing the homework inside.”

She laughed, a sound that made the sun shine a little brighter. “Roxas, you ready?”

“Yep. Where’s the stool?”

“How should I know?”

“You know plenty of things. Why shouldn’t—oh, there it is.” He pulled out an ordinary wooden stool from behind the risers and situated himself. “Hiding in plain sight, as they say.”

Naminé raised an eyebrow, amused, and shook her head. “I’ll count you in. Do you want an extra measure?”

“Nah, just go for it.”

“One, two, thr—”

“Whoa, whoa! I just said I wasn’t comfortable up to tempo, that’s way too fast!”

“Yes, but we have to _get_ you there somehow.”

“It’s not going to _help_ me if I don’t know the—wait, you mean that wasn’t already up to tempo?”

“Roxas, that was only, like, 130 BPM. You have to get up to 180.”

“Ohhh my God—”

It was right about then that Sora completely lost both track of the conversation and any hope of jumping back in, so he just sat on the risers and listened. Well, sort of. Whatever Roxas was singing, it sounded pretty good (if a bit slow), but for the life of him, he could not later recall what it actually sounded like. If Kairi had been there, she would’ve yelled at him for not paying attention, but at this point, he couldn’t help it. He was distractible, and that was the truth of it.

His internal Kairi said, _That’s just an excuse._

His brain said, _Yeah, you’re right._

“Well, I think I’ll get going,” he announced aloud as soon as there was a break in the music and Roxas and Naminé’s rapid-fire banter, jumping up off the risers with probably a bit too much enthusiasm. They both started slightly.

“I forgot you were there,” said Naminé.

Roxas scoffed. “Very sensitive of you.”

Sora was unoffended. “Good luck getting your song up to tanto or whatever—”

“—tempo—”

“—and with your psych homework, Naminé.”

“Good luck with whatever you’re putting off to go see Riku,” she replied, a devious glint in her eye.

Sora sighed. “Don’t remind me. So much stuff I don’t want to think about...”

“Frankly, I doubt Riku’s done any homework either, maybe you can both get your shit together.”

“Are you suggesting they have a _homework date_ , little mouse? How romantic.”

Sora whirled around—standing behind them, having apparently just materialized in the doorway, was Axel.

“Axel, what are you doing here?” Naminé asked, exasperated.

“Larxene chased me out of the lab,” he explained, sauntering in, his hands stuck in his pockets. He was wearing all black again. “Said I kept trying to set her hair on fire. Dunno what that was all about.”

“Chased you halfway across campus?” came Roxas’ voice, sounding skeptical almost to the point of hostile. Sora glanced back at him, frowning—he felt like he was missing something.

“I took a little liberty,” Axel replied easily. “She just told me to get lost. Didn’t say where to. Figured I might go see Naminé, and lo and behold! I find the whole gang. Hello, Sora.”

Sora swallowed. On any other occasion, he would’ve returned the greeting, but he could feel Roxas glaring knives into the back of his skull, so he didn’t dare.

“Why did you want to see me, Axel?” Naminé asked, her voice tight. This was a much different interaction between the two of them than what Sora had seen before, when it was Riku there instead of Roxas.

“’Cause you’re a nice kid, Nami,” he said, clearly avoiding the question; then, in a different voice, added, “Unlike Larxene.”

Completely unprovoked, Roxas interrupted, “You look like you’re about to gatecrash a funeral.”

“And you look like the poor bastard who’s kicked the bucket.”

His mouth fell open, and he leapt up off the stool. “Why, you—!”

“I jest, I jest!” Axel protested, hands up in surrender as he backed away. “I’m sorry, it was an automatic response. You look great, blondie. Like you got a full nine hours last night.”

“ _Axel_ ,” said Naminé warningly.

There was a pause. Sora could practically hear Roxas fuming.

“Alright, I get it,” Axel acquiesced finally, sounding almost—dejected. “I’m out.”

Nobody said anything.

“I’m going, too,” Sora input abruptly, realizing he’d rather follow around Axel for a few awkward minutes than sit in a room with Roxas right now. “I’ll, uh...walk out with you.”

Axel gave him a funny look, but didn’t protest, just exited without a word. With one fleeting glance at Naminé, whose expression was half apologetic and half angry, Sora grabbed his backpack and dashed out the door, shutting it behind him with a _slam_.

“Axel!” he called. “Wait for me!”

Axel huffed, rounding on Sora. “What do you want?”

“I just—” He came to an abrupt halt, taking several steps backwards in order to look at the other’s face. “I just wanted to know what’s wrong.”

“What’s _wrong_?” Axel repeated, and resumed walking at a pace that Sora had to almost jog to keep up with. “Isn’t that question better directed at your hotheaded friend back there?”

“Well, maybe, but I’m asking you.”

Axel just scowled. “I barely even know the guy. I talked to him once and he just up and decided he hates me. Refuses to accept we have mutual friends and might as well get along.”

“He calls you a porcupine sometimes.”

“I know.”

They walked on in silence, Sora thinking through his questions. He couldn’t decide what would be okay to ask, what might set him off, or what he might be able to ask Roxas later—finally, just as they left the building, Sora stopped and asked, “Who’s Larxene?”

“Oh, just your typical grade-A asshole,” Axel said dismissively. “She’s no big deal.”

“Did you really set her hair on fire?”

He laughed at that. “No,” he admitted, “but I got close. She’s got these weird little antennae things that stick up out of the rest of her hair like wicks. And anyway, she’d deserve it.”

“Are you going back to the lab now?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Where are you going?”

“Riku’s.”

There was a slight pause. “You know,” Axel said, “I’m glad you forced your way past his shyness. He can’t go through life thinking the only people he can be friends with are the people he’s known since he was two. And you’re new to his problems. Maybe a fresh outlook will actually help him through them.”

Part of Sora was flattered by this, but most of him didn’t entirely understand. “Problems?” he echoed.

“Sure,” said Axel. “Everyone’s got ’em. And if they haven’t, they’re insane. Interpret that how you will.”

Sora nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks, Axel.”

“What for? Have fun catching the music man’s cold.”

“I will,” he said absently.

Axel gave him a casual two-finger salute, then turned on his heel and strode away.

 _Strange guy_ , Sora thought. Then he shook his head and amended, _Strangely insightful._

♫♩

 

Riku’s apartment was on the third floor of an old four-story building with no elevators. The stairs creaked as loud as all get-out, and the walls and ceiling must have at one point been pretty and white, but were now so faded and damaged by years of scrapes and water leaks that after exiting the stairwell, Sora had to brush flakes of plaster out of his hair.

Other than its age, the place seemed alright. It was pretty small, only 12 apartments per floor, with a westerly view of a city park. Riku’s apartment was—he checked his phone—number 304, just a short way down the hallway, announced on the door with a small wooden plaque that was probably older than Sora. There was no doorbell— _of course there’s no doorbell, you idiot, it’s an apartment building_ —so he knocked.

The door opened with a creak almost as loud as the ones going up the stairs, and Sora winced. At least in the stairwell there hadn’t been much of a chance of disturbing the neighbors.

“‘Oil can,’” said Sora, through clenched teeth.

“I know,” said Riku, sounding like he’d heard that one before. “Come on in. And take off your shoes, this place is dustier than I can handle without people tracking in dirt.”

Sora did as he was asked, kicking off his sneakers and placing them under a little cubby built into the wall with a key ring and a pair of gloves in it. He decided he would have to start reminding Riku to actually wear them. There was music playing somewhere, something orchestral, but it was turned off before he got a chance to really hear it.

“Scherzo, from _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ ,” Riku said. “By Mendelssohn. Did you know Mendelssohn was born Jewish, raised without religion, then baptized Christian? Isn’t that weird?”

It was weird, but Sora was too occupied with taking in his new surroundings to really appreciate it. Looking around, the apartment was wider, more open than he had expected. There wasn’t a whole lot in it, at least not in this main room: there was a sidetable by a couch, a desk and chair, a short bookshelf, and a low sort of cabinet unit with a small television set on it that looked like it was from a decade ago. And there was no cable box, just a duo DVD/VCR player—the cabinet must’ve had movies in it, then. The bookshelf was just books, no photos or little trinkets or anything, although there was a picture frame on the desk, turned so that Sora couldn’t see it from where he stood. There were two doors on opposite sides of the room leading out, one to a kitchenette and the other presumably to a bedroom. The walls were bare, the curtains were open, and the lights all turned off, so the room was lit wholly naturally. It was also _damn cold_ , but Riku was only wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, presumably because of his fever. His cheeks did actually have some color in them right now. Sora, on the other hand, almost didn’t want to take off his coat. Was it like this throughout the whole winter?

“They haven’t turned on the heating yet,” said Riku, as if he’d read Sora’s mind. “They waited all the way until Thanksgiving last year, I nearly froze. I was thankful for having all my digits intact.”

Sora grinned. “How are you?”

“Sick.” Right on cue, he sneezed.

“Gesundheit.”

“Thanks. It feels like there’s needles going down my throat.”

“So don’t talk!” Sora said. “Go lie down or something. Have you been drinking lots of water?”

“You sound like my—uh—mom,” Riku said.

“So have you?” Sora persisted, wondering vaguely about the hesitation.

He glanced at floor, sheepish. “I was going to make tea.”

“But?”

“But I forgot.”

“Jeez, you’re worse than I am,” Sora marveled. “What have you been doing all morning?”

“Suffering?” Riku offered weakly. “Honestly, I’ve been falling asleep every half an hour since I got up for about five minutes, which is really detrimental to any productive effort.”

This, to Sora, was just bizarre. “Then go back to bed?”

“I can’t sleep during the day! I just can’t do it.”

He shook his head, still grinning a bit. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “I’ll make the tea, then, and you keep doing what you’re doing.”

Riku raised his eyebrows. “Suffering?”

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

He smiled, and it was even a bit like a smirk. “Of course, Sora,” he agreed pleasantly.

Sora sighed, eliciting a small laugh from the other (followed by a minor coughing fit), and dropped his bag by the couch, then ventured into the kitchenette. It was quite tiny, but that was only to be expected. There was a small fridge and freezer unit, an oven and stove, cabinets, and a sink. On the counter next to the sink were a small wooden rack for drying dishes and an electric tea kettle, and a hand towel hung from the oven door handle. Altogether, it was very put-together, very neat. Kairi would’ve adored it—Sora, on the other hand, was just straight-up impressed.

“Really cute,” he called into the main room, trying to cover up some of his awe with sarcasm. “Right little suburban kitchen you got here.”

“I know,” Riku replied, his voice strained from soreness. “It’s almost as if there’s only one of me to clean up after.”

This time it was Sora who laughed. He opened up one of the cabinets, looking for cups or teabags. “You got a favorite mug?”

“Light purple one. You can use the one with the birds on it.”

“Oh, I don’t want any.”

“Not a tea person?”

“Not a ‘no caffeine’ person.”

“I get it.”

Sora was going to ask him what type of tea he wanted, but it turned out he only had one box left (peppermint), so he put a bag of it in the purple mug and set some water to boil. Then he went back and went to sit with Riku on the couch.

“Didn’t your parents, I dunno, even look around before they chose this place?” he asked conversationally, glancing around at the walls and ceiling. “I mean, it’s fine, has character and all that, but it’s practically falling apart.”

There was a short pause. Then, Riku said, “I chose it.”

Sora swallowed. His inner Kairi reminded him, _Don’t make assumptions._ “Oh.”

“I asked for it, actually,” Riku continued. Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended. “They—my parents—wanted to put me in a brand new building at first. Still smelled like paint and cleaning chemicals. I nearly passed out the second I walked in there.”

“How’d you convince them this was better?”

He cracked a dry grin. “It’s closer to where my math classes are.”

Sora frowned slightly. “Why’s that funny?”

“My mom’s an engineer, and my dad’s a computer scientist,” he explained. “And I...well, I failed seventh grade geometry, which is quite a feat, considering I was homeschooled. Let’s leave it at that.”

Sora’s frowned deepened as numerous questions popped into his mind. “You were homeschooled? But your parents didn’t teach you?”

“Nah, they were too busy,” he said, sounding a little bitter. “Only home on Sundays. And they didn’t think public school would teach me anything of value, so I had tutors.”

“Doesn’t sound like you got out much.”

“No, not really. I guess that’s why I don’t handle new people—in the best way. My parents are...”

“Paranoid?” Sora suggested.

Riku shook his head. “No, just—just strange. My first tutor, I had all the way up to sixth grade—she was like a nanny, really. She was awesome. I think she scared my parents at first, but once they saw how well she taught, they forgot about it. I practically grew up with her.” He swallowed. “I haven’t heard from her in almost ten years, now.”

“Why did she scare your parents?” Sora asked, thinking of Axel.

He shrugged. “She put blue dye in her hair.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well, it was literally all bright blue.”

“Still...”

“Yeah, I know. But like I said, they got over it. They’re not completely unreasonable.”

Sora nodded thoughtfully. “Why’d she stop teaching you?”

“Something happened with her little brother,” Riku explained. “Got sick, I think. I don’t remember. She didn’t really talk about it. I mean, I wouldn’t.”

He bit the inside of his lip, now thinking of Leon. “Did he get better?”

“Can’t imagine so. Aqua didn’t come back, did she?” Riku sighed, in his quiet, unassuming way. “My other tutors were fine, I guess—other than the one that taught me geometry—but she was the best. I hope I get to see her again someday.”

There was a long pause. Sora reached out and touched Riku’s hand.

Riku blinked.

“Ididn’tmeantodothat,” Sora said abruptly.

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.”

 _You don’t understand_ , Sora wanted to say. He really hadn’t meant to do that. He was so surprised he found himself a little short of breath. He took his hand away, then jumped to his feet.

“Water’s probably boiled,” he mumbled, and dashed to the kitchen.

The water had indeed boiled. Sora had to keep both hands on the kettle to keep it steady as he poured Riku’s tea, but whether that was because his hands were shaking or because the kettle was just heavy, he couldn’t tell. He realized almost immediately that he had no idea how Riku took his tea, and felt it’d be too awkward to go back and ask now, so he rummaged through the cupboards until he found something that went in tea. For some reason, he couldn’t find any sugar, but he put in a spoonful of honey because he’d read somewhere that that was good for sore throats. He mixed it in, then cautiously brought it back and set it on the sidetable.

“You’ll burn yourself,” he warned. “You’d better wait a few minutes.”

Riku nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

Sora flopped down on the couch, now reaching for his bag. “I’ve been putting off my linguistics homework,” he said. “I just need to sit down and do it.”

“Well, you’ve sat down. Arguably, that’s the hardest part over with.”

“Arguably. Hey, you got a pen?”

“Pen?” Riku glanced towards his desk, where a bunch of writing utensils stood in a glass jar. “No, sorry. I can give you a pencil.”

“I’ve already got a pencil. You haven’t got a single pen? This paper is too glossy for lead.”

“I don’t use pens, I’m a lefty.”

“You’re a—” Sora stopped. “Of course. Of course you’re a lefty. I don’t even know why I asked.”

There was a pause.

“Well,” he said finally, “I guess I’ve just lost my opportunity to finish this.”

“You can do my homework,” Riku said hopefully.

Sora laughed, and started rummaging through his bag again. “What, you think I haven’t got more? Look at all this. I’ll find something else to do. Here, I’ll do a reading assignment.”

So he did his reading assignment, or at least some of it. He thought Riku would probably get bored just sitting there with him, but apparently he was content to just sip his tea (which didn’t seem to taste like rubbish, thank God) and listen to Sora turn pages of his book and scratch notes in the margins. He seemed tired—no, not tired. More like sleepy. Like he could shut his eyes and drift off at any time.

“You know,” Sora said quietly, “I didn’t get out much as a kid, either. Destiny Islands is so small, you go your entire life knowing the same people, doing the same things, visiting the same places...gets you thinking that the farthest the world goes is the ocean horizon. That this is all there is.” He paused. “’Course, I manage pretty fine with strangers, but...big cities, big buildings with long, winding corridors—that’s what I can’t handle.”

Riku nodded thoughtfully. For a few moments longer, it was silent; then, he asked, “Wanna watch a movie?”

Sora glanced at him, then at his homework, then back at Riku. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Turpin Hero_ \- J. Bugg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Syd4W9Dt5gI)
> 
> [_Scherzo_ \- F. Mendelssohn, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , Op. 61 No. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksLWUBXHQ8w)
> 
> Also of interest, I’m sure: [_Scherzo di Notte_ \- Kingdom Hearts OST (2.5)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWpotY7k7dA)


End file.
